


Islands In The Stream

by PepperF



Series: Islands In The Stream [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam takes a little vacation with a like-minded genius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Islands In The Stream

**Author's Note:**

> From six (!) prompts on abyssinia4077's LeapGate - reposted here as one thing, as it's effectively one story (and it's also kind of a sequel to my ficlet Inspiration, which is NC-17 and was from a prompt from oxoniensis 's Porn Battle V.) What can I say: Surreallis leaves these Sam/Mac prompts around, and I can't help myself. :)

Mac lay soaking in the sun, mind reeling under waves of heat, body utterly relaxed. Yeah, this was the life. Nothing but him, Pete's beachhouse, and 600 metres of golden sands, empty in either direction.

Empty, that was, except for the shadow that loomed over him suddenly, blocking the sun. He opened his eyes and squinted up, half-blind. A figure... impeccable military tailoring... silver glint of USAF pins... aviator shades that Mac swore were issued as standard... a halo of hair, translucent gold against the sun...

"Sam?" he chanced. "Sam Carter?" He brought up a hand to shade his eyes.

She held up a military-issue haversack. "Got anywhere I can stow this?"

\---

When she reappeared, she was in a bikini that had all the impact the name implied. It also did nothing to conceal the impressive bruising that was wrapped around her ribs. Mac didn't ask any questions, not wanting to taint this reunion by making her lie. He tugged her down to sit beside him on his beach towel, and began to slather suntan lotion over her pale skin. Sam sighed deeply - a distinctly 'Finally, I can relax' sound – and stretched her legs.

"Tough day at the office?" he joked. He still had no idea what she actually did; only that it was highly classified, highly weird, and definitely _not_ deep space radar telemetry.

"You could say that," she confirmed. "Sorry if I'm intruding on your break." She turned to look over her shoulder, eyes still hidden behind her sunglasses, but something hesitant in her voice.

Mac rolled his eyes, stroking lotion down her arms. "Sam," he admonished. "C'mon."

Her face – or the parts of it that weren't concealed behind sunglasses - relaxed. "Thanks, Mac," she said, with gratitude that he didn't understand. "It's so good to be outside in the sun, you know?" She stretched out her arms, splaying her hands as if she was literally trying to catch some rays. Then she sank her fingers into the golden sands, gripping a fistful and then letting it escape. "I need a week of sun, sand, and..." she trailed off, and glanced back at him again. When he pulled those damn sunglasses off her at last, her expression was mischievous and hopeful.

"...Surf?" he finished, quirking his eyebrows.

Sam's grin was like the sun emerging.

\---

Sam woke slowly and comfortably, and turned her nose into the pillow with a pleased murmur – a little disconcerted to find she'd awoken smiling. Mac was up and about already, even more of an early bird than her. She could hear whistling coming from the direction of the kitchen of Director Thornton's holiday home, and wondered if Mac was making breakfast for her. Probably: he had an old-fashioned sense of chivalry that she found hopelessly endearing. Mostly, anyhow.

It was the first time they'd spent the night in a bed together – which sounded a lot less racy when you considered that they'd gotten to know one another whilst camping out in a desert. Real beds beat camp beds by a country mile, Sam decided, preferring not to woken by being unexpectedly dumped on the ground by a collapsing frame. Sam lifted her head slightly to survey the room, then let it drop down again with an "Oof," when her side twinged, a painful reminder of her bruises. But it was easier to be optimistic when she was rested and relaxed. Very, very relaxed. Today, she decided, she was not going to hurry. She was going to get up at her own pace. Which was going to be slow.

Well, the idea of a cup of coffee wasn't altogether unappealing...

Dragging sleep-clumsy limbs, she staggered out of bed and grabbed one of Mac's shirts to cover herself. She rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton, and wondered if there was any aspect of the man that wasn't supremely comforting.

Downstairs, after she'd washed up, she found him in the midst of a cheerful mess in the kitchen. He had a collection of things that she mentally labeled 'ingredients' strewn all over the counter. "I hope that's going to be pancakes," she said, and he glanced back, and smiled.

"Hey there, beautiful. Hope I didn't wake you?"

Sam shook her head. "I don't think I've slept that much in..." she trailed off, trying to remember, but eventually had to give up with a shrug. "A very long while."

"Well, you're just in time for the perfect wake-up drink," Mac declared, pouring about a quart of milk into a blender, on top of some... other things. "You're gonna love this." He went to a cupboard and started hunting through it, and Sam came forward to peer into the blender, trying to work out the mystery smoothie.

"So long as it's not one of those godawful 80s power shakes with raw egg in them," she joked, and turned around. "...Oh."

Mac was standing there with a hurt look on his face, and an egg in his hand.

"Mac - I was just joking..."

He broke into a grin, and waved the egg at her. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," he ordered.

A few minutes later, and the disturbingly grayish concoction was done. Sam felt obliged, after her slip-up, to at least try it. She sipped gingerly at the mix. It tasted... well, wholesome was a generous description. Sort of oaty, with a few lumps of fruit, and a slimy texture... an odd aftertaste that clung to the roof of her mouth... "Mac," she pleaded, "how insulted would you be if I said I prefer coffee?"

"Heathen," said Mac, without heat. "Philistine. Ingrate."

She set the tall glass down quickly, relieved to be off the hook. "It's not the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted," she said, remembering a certain unspeakable gloop on a distant prison planet.

Mac chuckled, and took an enthusiastic gulp of his concoction. "You just need to adjust your tastebuds to a healthier regime, that's all. You might find you like it." He poured her a coffee from the elaborate machine that indicated he'd never quite convinced his friend of these ideals.

"I like my tastebuds in their current configuration, thank you," said Sam, sipping her coffee.

Mac leaned over and kissed her – but they both pulled back quickly. "You taste of coffee," complained Mac.

"You taste of pick-me-up!" Sam grimaced. "Okay, that is a really unpleasant mix. Got any orange juice?"

"How 'bout waffles?" he suggested. "Maple syrup?" His lips were tantalizingly close again, but he held back, evidently not willing enough to suffer it again. "Strawberries?" He brushed his lips against hers, too lightly to be called a kiss. "Fresh... whipped... cream?"

Sam closed her eyes and breathed a soft sigh. But if he ever told anyone that she'd fluttered, she was going to kill him and hide the corpse.

\---

Sam Carter was easy. No, not that like that. She was easy to like, easy to be around - easy to let slip back into your life when you weren't expecting her and hadn't seen hide nor hair of her for going on eight months. Not that Mac would be fool enough to turn down the opportunity to make time with a long-legged astrophysicist, but she was more than just a beautiful brain. She was good company, caring and sweet, considerate, damn funny, warm and open, adventurous... Well, she was just easy, that was all.

She was sat across from him, looking relaxed in jeans and a sweater, poking at the campfire they'd made on the beach, salt in the wood making the flames spit and flare - but her eyes were focused on something far distant. He wondered what had happened to her to give her that look, but was resigned to the fact that he'd probably never find out. Her life – her real life – was kept separate from this little holiday she was spending with him, that was for sure. For a moment, Mac considered the temptation of investigation. He could poke around, see what the Foundation had on her, speak to his old buddy Jim Taylor, who'd just gotten his eagles the last time they'd spoken... He closed his eyes, firmly dismissing it from his mind. No. She'd asked him, straight out, not to pry. Much though it killed him to leave an unanswered question, he'd given his word.

Forcing his mind away from the problem, Mac rolled himself to his feet. "Wine?"

Sam looked up, and refocused on the here-and-now with an obvious jolt. "Oh. Uh, yeah – thanks."

Mac gave her a smirk, and turned towards the sea, glancing back to see her puzzled expression. By the time he'd reached the water, fished out the bottle he'd anchored in the sand under the waves, and made his way back, her puzzlement had turned to amusement. "You're such a goof," she said, fondly.

"It's fun," shrugged Mac, dropping down beside her and pulling out his Swiss Army knife to use the corkscrew. "Okay, your turn. What're we going to use for glasses?" Sam glanced back at the house. "Nuh-uh. Off-limits. Nothing but what we've got out here."

He liked the way her eyes lit up with the challenge.

In the end, drinking wine from a vessel of woven palm fronds, lined with Saran wrap (it wasn't cheating, Sam declared firmly, because he'd only declared the indoors off-limits, so what they'd left out on the deck was fair game – and would he prefer that it leaked wine all over his pants?) was kind of... interesting. Sharing it (she was damned if she was going to spend all evening weaving palm fronds together) was disconcertingly ceremonial. Like some kind of... thing that Mac wasn't going to think about.

They passed the vessel back and forth between them, but it wasn't the wine that was making his head spin. Conversation petered out, but that rushing in his ears wasn't the sound of the waves. When she pushed him to the sand beside the fire and sat on his legs, it wasn't surprise that made his breath speed up. When she kissed him, it wasn't the lack of oxygen that made his heart beat so fast.

\---

Mac was doing the dishes when Sam's phone rang. He glanced at it, glanced out of the window to where she was splashing through the waves, and gave the phone a shrug. "Leave a message," he advised it. After six rings, it clicked through to the answering service, and Mac went on with chipping away at the pan. How had she managed to burn this stuff on? She'd monitored it obsessively every step of the way, even setting up a –

\- The phone was ringing again.

Mac lifted his eyebrows. "She's taking a swim," he told it. "Call back later, can't you?" After six rings, it clicked through to the answering service again. Mac watched it. Sure enough, it began to ring again, straight away. "Oh, for-!"

He snatched the phone up and snapped it open. The man on the other end was already talking by the time he got it to his ear. "...finally picked up – listen, you're needed back at the Mountain urgently, there's a-"

"Sam Carter's answering service," interrupted Mac, loudly, not wanting to hear anything top secret. He had no desire to be jailed – or worse – for answering a ringing phone. "You wanna leave a message?"

There was a startled pause. "Uh, hi. Hello. You're not Sam."

"I'm not," agreed Mac. "Name's MacGyver. Who's this?"

"Daniel. Daniel Jackson."

"Daniel Jackson..." Mac went back to poking one-handedly at the dishes. "She's mentioned you. Work colleague, right?"

"Yeah. Uh, friend and work colleague. Is Sam there? I need to speak to her."

"She's taking a swim. Hey, you know anything about how to clean soufflé off a pan?"

"Not a lot, no," said Daniel, bemusedly. "Listen, it's-"

"I'm thinking maybe baking soda. It's really burnt on, though."

"I really need to-"

"She's relaxing, Mr. Jackson. And I'm guessing she's earned it. Can't it wait?"

Daniel paused. When he spoke again, his voice was regretful. "I wish it could," he said, honestly. "Please believe me when I say that it's urgent. Besides which," he continued, "it doesn't really matter what I'd choose to do. There's a helicopter on its way to pick her up right now. It should be there in about half an hour. And the Air Force admires your ability to choose remote locations." Mac smiled. "Okay, look, will you get her to call me when she's out of the pool?"

"The ocean," corrected Mac.

"Right. The ocean. It sounds nice," he said, wistfully. "And will you let her know about-"

"I'll go tell her," sighed Mac, resignedly.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

The line went dead – Daniel Jackson had some seriously absent-minded phone manners – and Mac closed the phone and threw it on the table just a little more violently than necessary. Then he strolled outside and paused on the deck to watch as Sam bent down to retrieve something from beneath the waves, holding it up to the light. She looked so relaxed - up to her thighs in the ocean, her sarong floating around her. The bruises, were beginning to fade, her skin was darkening from spending all her time outside, and her hair was beginning to acquire a sea-and-sun bleached look around the edges. Another week, and she'd have the beach bum look down.

Believing in the old adage about tearing band aids off quickly, Mac took a breath and went to end her holiday.

\---

Her legs and arms were feeling pleasantly stretched and limber. Swimming in the ocean was a fantastic way to exercise – fighting the drag of the waves, giving in to the temptation to explore. Okay, so she wasn't swimming so much as strolling, right now, but keeping her balance on the shifting sands under her feet was a challenge, too.

Sam peered down through the water, feeling out something beneath her foot. A shell of some kind – she ducked under to retrieve it, and was pleased with her find when she brought it back to the surface. Markings curled around the shell in remarkably regular patches of brown and cream. Very pretty – definitely a keeper.

She swished the shell through the water to clean it, and decided she was going to suggest they drive down to the marina tomorrow – preferably in Mac's Jeep, so she could feel the wind in her hair – and rent out a boat. She'd not been sailing in forever, but Mac loved all that, and she'd had enough rest that the idea of doing something active was starting to appeal again.

It was pleasant to spend time with Mac. She never felt bored – he was as bad as her when it came to restless brain syndrome, so he was constantly coming up with ideas to keep them occupied. Last night, he'd challenged her assertion that she couldn't cook, so she'd done some research online and come up with the most famously-difficult recipe she could bring to mind. The soufflé had worked surprisingly well – there was a definite science to the preparation of eggs, she decided. Okay, so it had gotten a bit burnt – but really, that was his fault for distracting her. Sam smiled reminiscently. Yeah, some of his ideas were great – and some were _fantastic._

Speak of the devil... Mac was striding across the sands towards her, and straight on into the ocean, without breaking stride. He splashed up to her and wrapped his arms around her with comfortable familiarity. Sam relaxed and put an arm around his shoulder, knowing he'd anchor her against the waves. "Look," she said, holding up the shell. "Isn't it lovely?"

Mac turned his head to look. "Yeah, it's beautiful. Junonia." He looked back at Sam, drew in a breath, and paused. Sam's instincts gave an uncomfortable little twitch.

"Mac?"

"Your phone rang," he said, in a rush. Sam froze, knowing from his tone that it hadn't been a casual caller. "I answered it after the third time it rang. Sorry 'bout that, but I thought it might be urgent. Your friend Daniel said to tell you they're sending a chopper to pick you up, should be here in a half-hour."

Sam felt an unexpectedly sharp pang of disappointment. She stepped away, looking elsewhere whilst she scrambled to get her thoughts in order. She swished her hands across the tops of the water, batting back the waves. "Damn. Did he – no, never mind." Daniel wouldn't have been able to tell Mac any more than that. "I have to go get ready." She started towards the shore, and then paused, still not willing to look back and let him see her expression. "I'm sorry for all this mysterious coming and going. I know it's not exactly..." She waved, uncertain of how to describe their maybe-not-exactly relationship and what she felt she maybe-sort-of ought to be doing for it.

"It's okay," he said, softly. "Not your fault."

She glanced back at him. "It is my choice," she said, reminding him – and herself – that she loved her job. She really, really did. She wouldn't choose to be doing anything else. "But... thank you for being so understanding."

He gave a lopsided shrug, and a lopsided smile, and flicked water at her, reflected sunlight speckling his chest under his open shirt. Damn – no time, no time... "Well now, that's my choice, isn't it?"

\---

She'd long-since mastered the art of the quick change into uniform, so was ready and back downstairs with her bag packed within ten minutes. The uniform was starched and perfect, the shoes polished and the silver gleaming. The only thing still obvious was the tan. And an ocean stickiness that she'd not had time to wash properly out of her hair. "I hope I get a chance to shower back at base," she said, as she came down the stairs. "I didn't have time to wash my hair properly."

Mac smiled, and glanced up at the familiar sound of a chopper approaching. "Sounds like your ride."

"Yeah." She grabbed the hat that he was holding out to her, and let herself be pulled close when he tugged on it. "I really am sorry I can't stay."

"Y'know, that's usually my line." She could feel the slight graininess of sand when he ran his hands up the back of her neck and into her hair. He smelled pleasantly of salt and fresh air when he kissed her, thoroughly, helicopters and the possible end of the world be damned. Then he leaned his forehead on hers, and for a moment, she wanted to stay more than anything in the world. "Gonna miss you." Sam closed her eyes. Then he cleared his throat, and the moment passed. "You take care, okay?"

"And you," she said. "Don't try to tell me your life is any less exciting."

"It's gonna seem pretty dull after this week."

Sam gave him her bright smile. "Smooth-talker," she teased, and hugged him, fiercely. "I'll see you again," she promised in a whisper. "Soon, I swear."

A kiss for luck, and she was on her way.

\---

EPILOGUE...

Mac threw aside his jacket and ran a hand through his hair, shaking out the cold rain – damn but the Minnesotan weather was downright nasty, right now. Three weeks ago, cold had been but a distant memory. Now he felt like he'd never be completely warm again. NOT sighing, he hit 'Play' on his answerphone, and noticed his tan was fading.

"Hi, Mac – it's me." And didn't that make his heart go pitter-pat. So embarrassing. "Uh, Sam. I'm just calling to say hi, and thanks for – well, for a wonderful time. I really am sorry I had to leave so suddenly. So... thanks. Again." There was a pause. "Um, give me a call sometime," she said, and hung up.

Mac stared contemplatively at the phone. Then grabbed it and dialed the number he'd pinned to his notice board - which, okay, was across the room, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit to having memorized her phone number. Three rings, four... "Hi, this is Sam Carter, leave a message." Short and to the point. Mac gave a huff of annoyance, and it beeped imperiously at him.

"Hi Sam, it's Mac - just returning your call. Uh, guess I'll speak to you when we're both around at the same time. Glad to hear from you. And hey – I had a great time, too." He said the last in a lower tone, feeling self-conscious. He pressed 'end', and went to grab a shower.

The phone was ringing when he got out, and he skidded on the wet floor of the bathroom, did a spectacular save that should have rated at least a 9.8, and staggered out in time to catch the call. "MacGyver," he said, breathlessly.

"Mac, hi," said Sam's voice, warm in his ear.

"Sam! Hey, how's it going?"

"Oh, good," she said, and he pictured her twirling the phone cord through her fingers, which was just stupid, because she wasn't the sort of woman who twirled phone cords, and besides which she probably had a cordless. "I was unpacking, and I found that shell – you know? – so I thought I'd call."

"Been away?" he asked, tucking the phone under his chin so he could tighten the towel around his waist. Damn, his house was chilly.

"Oh, uh, unpacking from coming to see you. I've been at work since the helicopter picked me up."

Mac whistled. "Wow. I hope they gave you time to shower, at least?"

There was a smile in her voice when she answered. "Yeah. It's about the only luxury I've had time for, though. What've you been up to?"

Mac sat on the couch and pulled the throw over his shoulders. "Shivering, mostly," he said. "I've gone soft. My ancestors would be so ashamed."

She chuckled. "So did you enjoy your last few days of peace and quiet? I made everyone jealous when I told them about the beach."

Mac cleared his throat. "Uh, well... I kinda didn't stick around," he said, feeling like an idiot. "I just... I decided to head back to town, after you'd gone." There was a thoughtful silence on the other end of the phone. "Oh!" He sat up, changing the subject quickly. "Thinking of leaving - you left something behind." He glanced back towards his bedroom, feeling oddly guilty about where he'd stored it. But there didn't seem to be any other logical place.

"Oh, thank god. When I couldn't find it, I was afraid I'd lost it at work. I, uh, guess it's a souvenir for you," she added, aiming for flirtatious but hitting cute.

Mac smiled. "You know I love blue, but I prefer wearing one-pieces." Sam chuckled. "Want it back? I could put it in the mail."

Sam was silent for a moment, and Mac held his breath. "I don't suppose," she said, hesitantly, "you're ever in the area of Colorado Springs? I've got a free weekend coming up, and... I have a spare room if you want it," she added, quickly. "It's full of junk, but it won't take me long to clear it out and I'm not – it's not like–" She stopped babbling abruptly, and Mac heard a soft thud, suspiciously like someone gently smacking their head against a wall. "I'd love to see you if you wanted to visit," she said, in a resolute tone.

Mac slid down more comfortably on the couch, feeling warmer. "Yeah? 'Cause I don't have any plans for this weekend. And, y'know, don't worry about clearing your spare room." He grinned stupidly at the phone, and from the silence her end, somehow knew she was doing exactly the same thing. "Hey, what's the weather like where you are?..."

\---

END.


End file.
